


Alive

by OKami_hu



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Incest, Injury, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2014-01-19
Packaged: 2018-01-09 06:56:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1142880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OKami_hu/pseuds/OKami_hu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thranduil barely survives a wound and Legolas is determined to make sure his father is still alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alive

**Author's Note:**

> (Let’s take a trip down memory lane, straight back to 2003!) “First, I thought I wasn’t not into father/son relationships. Then, my dear friend Shiona wrote a Thranduil/Legolas fic. And I was doomed…” (Well, that was ages ago. XD)
> 
> A note before you begin to read. “Amdir” means “hope based on reason” in Sindarin; and “nestadan” should literally mean “healer”. I’m not sure though – other possible variations are “nestadir” and “nestaion”. Other elvish words are translated on the end of the fic.

Blood marked the path of the soldiers, who carried their king’s wounded body into his chambers. The tall, strong elven man was hardly breathing when the healers came. One of them passed out from exhaustion a minute after, because he used up all his power to keep the king, the ever-beloved ruler out of Mandos.

The other one eyed the terrible wound with worry. The dark blade of the pack-leader orc thrust deep into the king’s body; fortunately it didn’t injure anything vital but it was bad enough to cause a massive blood loss which now threatened the ruler’s life. The healer quickly turned to the small chest resting next to him and produced a tiny vial from it. He wiped away as much blood as he could and poured the potion into the wound. It was a strong medicine, brewed to stop the bleeding and to help the torn flesh to regenerate itself. Elves heal very quickly but sometimes a little help was needed.

The bleeding soon stopped but the healer knew, it wasn’t enough. The king’s soul got dangerously far from the body by now. The dark-haired elf probed for the lord’s light but first, he couldn’t find it.

The sound of running footsteps startled the healer and he turned his head towards the door with a frown. But it quickly subsided as he realized, who the intruder was.

“Prince Legolas,” he acknowledged with a solemn nod.

“Nestadan Amdir.” Legolas bowed back then he fell on his knees by the bed of his father. “How serious is it?” he asked on a trembling voice. The heir of Mirkwood barely reached adulthood and for his young eyes, the strong and radiant king was cold and dim.

“Very serious I fear,” the healer answered. “Your father is standing at the gate of Mandos.”

“Save him!” the young prince pleaded, tears trickling down his pale face. “You can save him, right?”

“I’ll try what I can, Prince,” the dark-haired elf said quietly. He knew the passion of Legolas for his father, the king being his only parent and most beloved tutor. Amdir’s heart began to ache as he saw the young elf’s tears – he was such a loving child, his innocence wasn’t faded by years. “But prepare for the worst. The wound is deep. It is very possible that your father won’t see another sunrise.”

“NO! I cannot let him go!” Legolas gripped Thranduil’s cold hand. “Do what you can Amdir, do not let your name be placed in vain upon you!”

“My hope is based on reason.”

In this moment, Thranduil’s hand twitched in his son’s. The strong fingers slowly entwined with the slender ones of the Prince; the two palms brushed – one callused by the wielding of the sword and the bow, the other still holding the smoothness of youth.

The nestadan quickly sat down next to the king and glanced at Legolas.

“Stay where you are, Prince and do not let your father’s hand slip from your grasp! He loves you more than anything or anybody; if there’s one thing that can call him back, it is your light. Hold him!”

Legolas enclosed his father’s hand with both of his own and lifted it to his lips, while the healer placed his hands on the wound and sunk into deep meditation.

“Don’t leave me, father!” Legolas begged wordlessly. “Do not go after mother; I need you here, to teach me, to protect me! I know, I’m selfish but please… I never asked anything from you but this now; stay with me! I love you more than anybody else!”

Amdir felt the familiar ripples around him as he dove into Thranduil’s consciousness to follow the silver thread, which connected the body with the soul. The fine chain was thin now, ready to snap. The healer used his power to strengthen it a little but that wasn’t enough. He knew that he had to find the glowing light on its end and help the soul to find its way back into the body. So he plunged further into the darkness to bring the elven king back.

“Ada! Ada, come back to me, I beg you!” Every pleasant memory came back into Legolas’ mind; the joy and laughter he shared with his father, the hunts, the practicing and the baths after them by the secluded little waterfall… The sun’s light flickering merrily on the water drops thrown into the air… Perhaps Thranduil had his weaknesses but he was a good father.

There was no proof of time, how long the two elves sat next to their king, trying to save his life. Amdir broke out in sweat, his eyes closed firmly and he bit into his lower lip, soon hard enough to draw blood. His muscles tensed as he pushed himself to the limits of his powers – and beyond them. He found Thranduil’s light in the darkness and was dragging him back but the shadows were closing on him…

The king’s fingers gripped Legolas’ hand like an iron vise; his nails dug into the soft skin but the Prince just gritted his teeth and gripped back almost just as strong.

“Cuio, nín adar!”

A sudden rush of warmth gave strength to the healer and he pulled the king with, surfacing like a drowning sailor with the last of his breath; a pain-filled cry broke free from Amdir’s throat and he collapsed on the bed, limbs shaking, chest heaving.

Thranduil's lashes stirred and the king opened his deep blue eyes. A faint smile spread on his lips; the Prince looked back at him with tear-stained face but with joy in his gaze.

“Nín ion,” The ruler whispered. “Do not worry for me.”

Legolas wiped away his tears and nodded. And as the king sunk into a deep, healing slumber, the Prince helped Amdir up.

“Thank you for your efforts, nestadan.” He bowed to the healer deeply. “Without you, Mirkwood wouldn't have a king by now.”

“I merely did, what I had to, Prince,” Amdir smiled. “Your father's going to be alright.”

Some servants came and supported the weary dark-haired elf back to his own chambers. One of them turned to the Prince.

“Who should guard the king while he sleeps, my Prince?”

“I will” Legolas replied.

***

The young elf did as he said. He never left his father's side, not even to sleep or eat. After the third day, the servants stopped pleading and just brought him the food.

On the fifth day, Thranduil opened his eyes again and smiled; his dear son, overwhelmed by the need dozed peacefully on the bed, his fair head resting on his arms. The king lifted his hand and caressed the pale golden hair. Sparkling eyes turned to him, as blue as the clearest summer sky.

“Ada! You're awake!”

“Seems so,” Thranduil winked. “How long was my sleep?”

“Five days, ada.”

“That's a long time indeed! I have to get up.”

“Don't you dare!" The Prince hissed, all respect forgotten for a brief moment. “You barely survived, you have to rest and heal properly!”

The king laughed.

“Very well, my son, I shall follow your advice. But tell me...” Thranduil looked around “Did you guard my dreams?”

Legolas nodded.

“You spent all those five days by my bed?” Thranduil's eyes softened.

The Prince nodded again, tears forming in his eyes; and when his father's arms opened, they joined in a tight embrace.

“I was so worried for you, ada!” Legolas wept silently.

“It was you, who held me back from entering Mandos, my son,” the king whispered. “Your light is strong and I thank you for all the love you have for me.”

Legolas pulled back with a faint blush.

“Do you wish anything, father? To eat, to drink?”

“Yes, please, some water. My mouth is so dry…”

The Prince quickly produced a goblet and filled it with sweet, fresh water. While Thranduil drank deeply, Legolas picked up the plate with the remains of his last meal. There was a piece of lembas too, which he offered to his father.

“It gives strength but it’s light enough for an injured.”

The king took the bread with a nod. Legolas left him for a while just to return with Amdir.

“Ieston maer aur le, aran nín” the healer bowed with a smile. “How do you feel?”

“Very well, nestadan. Thanks to your skill.”

“And your son’s strong spirit,” Amdir added. “Now, I shall see the wound. Prince, may I ask you to call the other healer?”

“Yes, nestadan.” Legolas ran off.

“Such a loving child, isn’t he?” Thranduil’s gaze was soft as he watched the Prince to disappear behind the next corner.

“Indeed he is, my liege.” Amdir smiled as he carefully took off the bandage which covered Thranduil’s torso. “But he’ll turn a strong warrior soon, worthy for the throne of Mirkwood.”

“I still see him as a child though,” the king sighed. “And this will never change, I suppose.”

“Every parent feels like this,” the healer agreed and ran a smooth hand over the salmon pink scar on the left lower part of the ribcage. “Nice.”

“Can I get up?”

“Yes but no major exhaustion for another five days! The skin closed, but your royal inside is still tender, my king. You may take a bath and a light meal but then, you should lay back.”

“Alright, alright!”

The Prince arrived with the other healer. Amdir gave him a few orders concerning the king’s further treatment then left, leaving Thranduil and his heir alone.

“Come over here, my son” the king patted the bed next to him and Legolas cuddled close to his beloved father. He laid his head on Thranduil’s collarbone and inhaled the deep, masculine scent of his body. The king, on the other hand, buried his nose into Legolas’ pale hair and took a deep breath.

“You smell like your mother,” he whispered and placed a kiss on the top of his son’s head. “So light and fresh like a spring morning.”

“Tell me more about her” the Prince looked up. “I barely have memories about her.”

“She was the dew on the roses, the swift wildcat in the forest, the flame in the dancing hall. Her heart was full of passion but gentleness too; this and her sharp wits and peaceful nature made her my best friend and most trusted adviser. She held me back from doing anything reckless. She was the most beautiful rose Mirkwood ever sprouted. Either in silk dresses or in the warrior’s armor, she was elegant and graceful. Her body was slim and white, though finely muscled – you look much like her. You have her hair, her eyes; you take after her in form and face. Her strong spirit vibrates inside you too.”

Legolas was silent in his father’s arms. The king’s voice was dark velvet and in his arms, the Prince felt secure.

“I love you, father,” he whispered finally, looking into those blue eyes, darker than his. “I shall thank the Valar a thousand times, that they haven’t taken you from me.”

“A, nín melda ion,” Thranduil breathed and he touched his lips lightly to his son’s. Legolas shuddered at the contact. A tiny lightning raced through his body but it was a pleasant feeling. Butterflies started to dance in his belly and he put a trembling hand on Thranduil’s shoulder.

A light knock startled them.

“My king, the bath is ready” a servant called. “Shall we help you?”

“No, thank you, I can come clear ” Thranduil called back then winked at his son. “Help me?”

“Yes, ada.”

*** 

The hot water felt good and Thranduil enjoyed every moment of time – he leaned back and relaxed, while Legolas poured fine oils into the small pool-sized tub, then massaged his shoulders; and finally, after some begging, he got permission to wash his father’s hair.

The Prince was actually quite fond of his father’s body, the king being a strong and handsome warrior. His fair skin was almost flawless, only two old scars marred his pale flesh; one on his right hip and a long thin line on his left arm from shoulder to wrist. Legolas knew the story of both injuries well. When after a busy day they went for a swim, the young elf asked about them and his father told him about the battles. Being naked in front of each other was a familiar setting for the two elves causing them no discomfort. But Legolas was a child that time and he never looked at the king’s sculpted form with the passionate youth’s eye… until this.

Thranduil’s skin tingled from the warmth, the fine scent and those gentle touches. He abandoned himself to his son’s will; he let Legolas drape a green velvet robe on his shoulders, lead him back to the bed, force him to sit still on the clean sheets and soft blankets and brush his hair out.

“Enough is enough, my son!” Thranduil scolded him softly. “You’re a Prince and not a servant.”

“Let me make you happy, just this once, ada!” the young elf pleaded innocently, but the king’s body trembled unwillingly.

They just sat and talked until nightfall. The stars were already glittering on the sky, when Legolas turned to his father.

“Can I sleep here tonight, ada?”

“If you won’t trample on me.”

The Prince laughed and stretched out next to his father. Thranduil sneaked one arm around his heir’s bare shoulders; Legolas was clad only in a pair of sand-colored velvet breeches.

The younger elf laid his hand on his father’s abdomen, feeling the firm muscles there. He rubbed them in gentle circles and buried his nose deep into the folds of Thranduil’s robe.

“You’re so beautiful, ada,” he whispered sincerely.

The king tensed as he felt a growing warmth in his stomach. As Legolas continued to caress him, the heat spread and turned into an ache in his lower belly. Finally, a soft moan escaped the older elf’s throat. His son rose immediately, his eyes wide in alarm.

“Did I hurt you?”

“N-no, my son, do not worry…” Thranduil raised a trembling hand and ran it down on his heir’s arm. “You’re beautiful too.”

Legolas blushed sweetly at the compliment and his fingers wandered higher to caress his father’s chest, collarbone and neck. The king drew him closer and began to explore the smooth skin of the Prince’s back.

Very pleasant feelings began to race inside Legolas and he welcomed them, closing his eyes and sighing delightedly. The sighs soon turned into soft moans and finally, the fair-haired youth leaned above his father and touched his lips with his.

“Please?” Legolas breathed and opened his sweet mouth waiting for the invasion.

The world went blurry before the eyes of the king of Mirkwood and he thrust his tongue deep into that delicious, hot cavern. Fire blazed in his body and he embraced the lithe frame snuggling to him tighter; his hands grabbed one firm thigh and pulled the slender leg between his. The Prince’s groin brushed to Thranduil’s hip and he felt the desire growing there. For a brief moment, he felt pride but it was quickly washed away by guilt.

The king grabbed Legolas’ shoulders and pushed him away. The Prince blinked at him in confusion.

“We… we shouldn’t do this, nín ion,” Thranduil explained hoarsely. “It is wrong-”

“How can love be wrong?” Legolas asked desperately.

“Kinsmen shouldn’t love each other, my son. I mean, not like a man and a woman love each other.”

“But- but it’s not that…” Legolas blushed. “I love you as my father, no more, no less!”

“I do not doubt about it. But the way we touched… that was wrong.”

“Once again, ada, how can something that brings such pleasure be wrong?”

“You just don’t want to listen to me, do you?”

“Forgive me, father,” the Prince bowed his head, “but I’m so overjoyed by not losing you that I want to feel you near me. It is so good to lay next to you, to feel your warmth and to have your strong arms being wrapped around my shoulder. Just this night, ada… I want to feel you being _alive_.” Legolas leaned in for a kiss.

The king couldn’t resist. He tried but failed miserably. The young body pressing against his, the sweet taste, the fresh smell, the smooth texture of skin was too much, too intoxicating… The ache between his legs intensified as his son’s leg brushed against his throbbing erection. Just one night… for his sake… just once…

This battle was lost.

Thranduil abandoned himself to the need calling from deep inside his soul and his hands began to move by themselves, eager to touch the arching frame on top of him. Legolas’ moans drove him wild and he began to pry off the only piece of clothing the Prince was wearing. The younger elf wiggled out of the garment impatiently and gasped loudly when his father’s hand brushed against his already hard manhood. The Prince’s length was delicate and slender, just like he himself.

When his son’s arms curled around his neck, Thranduil smiled. Legolas began to pant softly as the king continued to caress him with feather-light touches. The Prince bucked his hips into the callused palm begging for more pressure and the older elf obeyed. He tugged the proud piece of flesh gently, running a fingertip over the weeping slit on the head. For a while he gave the soft balls the same treatment, then returned to the original task.

Legolas moaned and pressed his lips to his father’s. The lip-lock kept him silent for a while, but as the pleasure was building in him, the Prince threw his head back and cried out. His voice was music to the king’s ears and he continued his activities a bit rougher, curious about what kind of sounds can he coax forth from that slender throat.

Legolas’ blue eyes seemed to glow as he was nearing the peak. He shuddered in the king’s arms and grabbed the green robe tightly.

“Nín adar… dannathon… avo daro…”

“Linno an nin, melui hen!” Thranduil whispered and with one last long stroke, he brought his son to the edge.

And Legolas fell. His body arched like a pale bow, his blue eyes opened wide and he cried out with passion.

The king caught most of his seed in his palm and when the Prince went limp in his arms from exquisite exhaustion, the older elf secretly lifted his hand to his lips and tasted the pearly white essence. The soft chuckle that escaped from his throat made Legolas turn his satisfied gaze to his father’s face.

“You may look like your mother, but you taste like me,” Thranduil said proudly. The younger elf took the king’s hand and began to lick off the moisture. The ruler of Mirkwood shuddered. He had only grown harder by the sheer sight.

“You’re wanton, nín ion, the worst kind of it,” he told his heir. Legolas merely smirked and captured Thranduil’s lips with his own. While their tongues battled, one slender hand of the Prince sneaked down over the king’s body to finally rest between his legs.

Thranduil gasped and tilted his head back while Legolas kept caressing him.

“Now, I feel that you’re alive, nín adar,” he cooed into his father’s ears. “Allow me to satisfy you, please!”

“Do as you wish, for I don’t have the strength to resist you anyway…”

Legolas rose with a radiant smile, crawled between his father’s legs and parted the velvet robe hiding the otherwise nude body, exposing a massive arousal.

“You’re truly a king, ada; I see everything on you is quite majestic.”

Thranduil merely covered his eyes. The soft voice, the carefully chosen words made him weak and only even more aroused. His panting turned into soft gasps as the Prince placed a kiss on the base of the penis then began to lick it gently. His smooth tongue lapped up the drops of semen trickling down on the shaft, while his fingers rolled those two precious gems hidden by a silk pouch of skin.

Thranduil dug his fingers into his son’s pale golden hair, wordlessly begging for release and Legolas obeyed him, taking the marble-hard length’s tip into his hot mouth, sucking on it gently. The king gritted his teeth to stop himself from crying out but low moans still escaped his throat, full of passion and lust.

“A… aa! Melda… Legolas…!”

Only a flick of the silky tongue answered him and Thranduil couldn’t hold back a cry as he came, filling his son’s mouth with his seed. Legolas drank every drop of the hot liquid, smiling to himself.

After he cleaned his father up, the Prince crawled back to cuddle close to the king’s body. Thranduil panted heavily but he recovered quickly and embraced his heir.

“Now you got what you desired, nín ion. I daresay, you’ll turn into a very fine lover just as well as a strong warrior.”

“Thank you for the compliment,” Legolas nodded and placed a kiss on his father’s cheek. “I’ll try to be the best in everything and become worthy for the throne of Mirkwood.”

“You’re on a very good way…” Thranduil began but stopped with a frown. “Wait for a moment. Where in Mordor have you gained such skills??”

Legolas blushed and buried his face into his father’s robe.

“It is a very long story, ada,” he murmured.

“You have five days to explain it to me, dearest and only son of mine. I’m most eager to hear it.”

“Shall I begin in this very minute?”

Thranduil smiled involuntarily at the guilt-loaded question.

“Alright, I guess, this can wait til’ tomorrow. We both need our rest.”

They cuddled up and soon drifted off into a deep, satisfied sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Elvish words appearing in the fic:
> 
> Cuio, nín adar – “Live, my father!” 
> 
> Nín ion – “my son”
> 
> Ieston maer aur le, aran nín – literally “[I wish] [good] [morning] [to you], my king”. I hope I got this one right…
> 
> A, nín melda ion – “Oh, my beloved son”. I guess, “melda” is in Quenya but heck, there’s no such Sindarin word in my dictionary!
> 
> Nín adar… dannathon… avo daro… - “My father… I’m going to fall… don’t stop…” I was annoyed to death by the lack of elven sex-words and lines, so I made this up. I guess, calling the orgasm “falling” is pretty fitting, since we’re talking about such a noble and elegant race… If you have a better idea, drop me a line! Let’s invent euphemisms for the phrases “to make love”, “to come” and “I love you”!
> 
> Linno an nin, melui hen – “Sing for me, sweet child”


End file.
